


A Ghost Upon the Moor Tonight

by onetruealpha



Series: All the King's Horses [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternative Events to Echo House, BAMF Lydia Martin, Banshee Lydia Martin, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia is Perfect, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Post Nogitsune, Protective Lydia Martin, Rape/Non-con Elements, Red String of Fate, help what have I done, otherwise canon compliant, post 3b, tether bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetruealpha/pseuds/onetruealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia finds out what happened to Stiles and she begins to make some plans of her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ghost Upon the Moor Tonight

Stiles’ anxiety level is at an all time high as he paces his bedroom floor, heart beating too fast in his chest as he waits. He wishes he’d asked Scott to stay at least until Lydia got there. He doesn’t understand it, really, but having Scott around seems to quell his panic in ways that very little else does. He isn’t sure if it’s because they’ve been friends forever or if it’s because Scott is an alpha werewolf and Stiles just feels _safer_ when Scott is around. Either way, he wishes he’d told Scott to stick around a little longer because he feels like he’s starting to unravel as he paces. Like everything inside him is slowly coming undone. 

He turns when he hears a knock at his door, expecting to see his dad since he didn’t hear a knock on the front door downstairs and the doorbell didn’t ring. But he sees Lydia instead, her hair down and kind of curly in that way that always makes him feel like he’s been punched in the gut and he can’t breathe and it seems odd to him that he still feels that way after everything and he’s not sure if that’s normal or if it’s a sign of just how screwed up he really is. Nothing feels normal anymore even when it always had been. 

“Hi,” she greets as she steps inside his room and watches him for a moment with concerned green eyes. 

His chest constricts because he just doesn’t understand why she’s so concerned for him after everything. Scott not holding things against him is one thing. They have been through literally everything together. Bullies and failed tests and Stiles’ mother’s death and Scott’s dad leaving and getting rejected by girls and werewolves and kanimas. A year ago, Lydia barely knew who he was even though they’ve grown up together, too. He doesn’t get it. 

“Stiles?” She steps closer to him, eyebrows furrowing as she reaches out and takes his hand and he curls his fingers around hers instinctively because the last six months things have changed between them in so many ways. Since being dragged into the supernatural crap, she’s become an essential part of keeping them all together, of saving their asses, of gentle touches and hand holding and hugs and late night text conversations when neither of them can sleep. 

She’s become his closest friend after Scott and he’s still not sure when exactly that happened, but he needs her and it terrifies him that she’s going to look at him differently once he tells her what he has to tell her. Because he does have to tell her. He can’t and won’t risk her finding out some other way, won’t hold back the fact that Brunski knows that she’s a banshee and she’s at risk again because of him. He owes her. And he owes her big. 

“Hey.” She reaches up, touching his cheek with one hand to try and draw his focus on her as if she can sense that he’s struggling and sense that it feels like his heart is about three seconds away from exploding right out of his chest and god he hopes that’s not a thing that can actually happen. But this is Beacon Hills and literally anything is possible and if his heart explodes out of his chest, it’s going to be terribly messy and he doesn’t want his dad or Lydia to have to see that or clean up the mess it makes and he forces himself to suck in a breath and meet her eyes. 

“Easy,” Lydia whispers, searching his eyes. “Just breathe, Stiles. It’s okay.” 

Except it isn’t. It isn’t okay. It’s all so far from okay that he sort of wishes a hole in the ground will open up and swallow him whole. He feels like he’s already been swallowed whole in so many ways. Scott almost killing himself at the Glen Capri and dying in an ice bath for sixteen hours, and getting possessed by a nogitsune, and having his body violated by people he should have been able to trust or at the very least trust not to _hurt_ him.

He draws in a shuddering breath, blinking back tears. 

“Stiles, whatever it is, we’ll get through it,” she whispers, and her voice is so sincere that it physically hurts to hear. 

“I don’t want you to look at me any different,” he admits miserably, moving over and sitting down on the edge of his bed. He buries his face in his hands. He’s a mess, and he hates it. It never used to be like this. He used to be the person that everyone else leaned on. It’s how he prefers things. Not that he takes pleasure in his closest friends’ pain, but he’s better at listening than he is at talking when it comes to _real_ things. 

“Stiles Stilinski.” 

He looks up at her, caught off guard by the anger in her voice. It’s been awhile since he’s seen or heard her be pissed off. 

“You know better than that. You know _me_ better than that. Or at least I thought you did.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Give me a little credit here. I’m not really a shallow person.” 

Stiles winces at that and shakes his head. “No, I know that, Lydia. It isn’t -- it isn’t like that,” he whispers. 

She studies him for a long moment before crossing the floor and moving to sit down beside him on the edge of the bed. “Just tell me,” she whispers. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to look at you any different and I’m not going anywhere.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing his hands over his face. “I know that...you and Scott kinda...figured out that something happened at Eichen House.” His voice sounds distant to his own ears, like he’s not quite in his body anymore and it’s an odd feeling even for someone who’s been possessed. 

Lydia nods and then is still beside him, silent and waiting for him to continue. 

“I was raped,” he says flatly, not looking at her. It’s the first time he’s uttered the words aloud and even thinking them has made his stomach turn every time his brain tosses the word around. 

He can tell without looking at her that the words affect her, too, because she inhales sharply and he feels her hand come to rest on his arm, squeezing there lightly. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking down. A second later he feels her arms sliding around him and he draws in a breath, hugging her back hesitantly, resting his head against hers. She rubs his back, reaches up and slides her fingers through his hair and he exhales slowly, closing his eyes.

“Come here,” she whispers, shifting on the bed so that her back is against the headboard and she tugs at him until he’s laying with his head on her lap, arm wrapped around her legs. “It was Brunski, right?” 

His breath hitches, arm tightening around her a little. “Yeah. My dad’s gonna...deal with him.” He doesn’t elaborate and she doesn’t ask. 

“Stiles?” It’s as if she can sense that he’s holding something back. And she’s Lydia. She probably can, but her voice is soft, soothing as she strokes his hair, her hand warm against his skin. 

“And Malia,” he whispers after a long moment and her hand grows still in his hair. 

“Malia Tate.” It isn’t a question. He feels her tense and his thumb moves unconsciously over her leg. After a few seconds, she relaxes again and her fingers resume brushing through his hair. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is almost inaudible. 

“Stiles...you have _nothing_ to be sorry for,” Lydia tells him. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t ask for this to happen. You didn’t deserve it.” 

Stiles shuts his eyes tightly. “I may have killed his sister. Brunski’s.” The guilt in his voice is obvious. “She was in a coma.” 

“Is that what --” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I mean, it matters, of course it matters, but that wasn’t you, and he had _no_ right to hurt you regardless. God, Stiles.” Her voice wavers. “I’m so sorry this happened.” 

He nods silently, tired. He’s always so tired these days.   
“Get some rest. I’m staying right here,” Lydia tells him quietly. 

“You don’t have to--” 

“I _want_ to. I sleep better when I’m with you anyway.”

A tiny smile touches his mouth at that, because despite everything, he gets it -- they are tethered and he nods in agreement because he sleeps better when she’s there, too. “Okay. Goodnight, Lydia.” 

“Goodnight,” she whispers back. 

_____

Lydia doesn’t sleep that night. She stays leaned back against the headboard of Stiles’ bed, carding her fingers gently through his hair as _he_ sleeps. Occasionally she hears a whimper escape him and she wonders which nightmare that he’s having. If it’s nogitsune-related or if it’s about Brunski and Malia, or if it’s about one of the other numerous things that they’ve been through. There’ve been so many. She gently strokes her hand over his brow, soothing him almost instantly even as her chest tightens. 

She loves him. She’s loved him for awhile now, admitted it to herself even if she hasn’t said it to him. She doesn’t know how. And the timing couldn’t be worse, of course, because they’re all still struggling so hard to deal with the loss of Allison and Aiden, with the trauma of nearly losing Stiles. With _all_ of it. And now she knows there’s so much more he has to try and come to terms with, to try and deal and recover from and she wants to cry. 

She gazes down at him as he sleeps and she wonders if he can feel her at all and she thinks that he must if her ability to still his nightmares with a simple touch is any indication. She feels him nearly all the time now. Can sense when he’s distressed or hurting. She doesn’t know if it’s a banshee thing or if it’s a tether-bond thing or both, really, and she’s not sure it even matters. 

Lydia leans her head back against the headboard even as she reaches for her phone and sends Scott a message. 

_We need to deal with Malia Tate._

Because the sheriff might be dealing with Brunski in some official capacity, but he’s not equipped to deal with a were-coyote and he’s not equipped to deal with Peter Hale. 

No. 

That’s their job. And Malia is definitely going to be dealt with, she thinks darkly as she gets Scott’s returned message almost instantly. 

_First thing tomorrow._

Good. She nods, jaw tensing slightly at the thought of the other girl forcing herself on Stiles. She doesn’t know the details. Doesn’t need to know them. 

All she knows is that before the next day is over, Malia Tate is going to be out of their lives. 

One way or another. 

Because Lydia is thoroughly _over_ people hurting the people she loves.


End file.
